


Distortion

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post Bartlett Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-08
Updated: 2005-10-08
Packaged: 2019-05-15 10:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Can Jed tell reality from nightmare?





	Distortion

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Distortion**

**by:** Caroline 

**Character(s):** Jed, Abbey  
**Pairing(s):** Jed/Abbey  
**Category(s):** Angst (character death), Post-White House  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Summary:** Can Jed tell reality from nightmare?  


I knew about the pills. I saw her sneak a few before bed too many times to count. I watched the side effects change her: constant headaches, lost weight, fatigue. I saw that fire in her eyes smolder and, then, extinguish. I was there when she went to bed the night before. I was there when she didn't wake up the next morning. I was the one to call the ambulance. I was the one who sat by the bed when she was on the respirator. I was the one the doctors told about the liver damage and the apparent addiction I was in denial over. I was the one who let them pull the plug. The one who let go. The one who brought hell to her. The one she tried to escape. The one who can't live without her. 

Yet, here I am. Sitting in the front pew, listening to our priest give the most beautiful eulogy, tears streaming down my face, my daughters surrounding me. I could have stopped her. But when I finally confronted her, she tapped into the guilt she knew I still felt. 

I let go of Zoey's hand and, causing the priest to stop mid-sentence, I roll my wheelchair to her open casket. The whole world disappears as I gaze upon her face, her hair, her lips, her nose. I love everything about her. She's my life. I can't bring myself to refer to her in anything but the present tense. 

I reach up and brush a strand of hair from her face. I try to stand. I feel hands grab at me but I fling myself onto her coffin. I press my lips to hers as they try to pull me away. One last kiss goodbye. I fall onto the ground and hear the voices around me fade out. 

*** 

The alarm goes off and I fumble around in the darkness of the early morning to rid myself of that unbearable screech. My hand is flung around like a whip and knocks onto the floor a lamp-probably priceless with some amazing historical story in its birth or life. The loud crash lets me know that this spectacular lamp has met an ungracious end. The blinding light from the hallway forces my eyes to close as I hear an agent, "Mr. President? Are you alright?" I nod, still unable to open my eyes against the invading brightness. I hear the door click close and feel a hand on my arm, "Jed?" My heart stops and my breath catches in my throat. 

I'm afraid to turn. Afraid it won't be her. Afraid it might be, could be, will be. 

"Jed? Are you okay?" There is concern in her voice now and I feel the bed shift. I turn and I can tell she's surprised at the tears running down my cheeks. "Jed? Honey, what's wrong?" She takes my hands, searching for an injury, "Did you hurt yourself?" 

I grab her hands in mine and pull her to me, breathing in her scent. Closing my eyes to stop the dam that had been broken, I refuse to let go. I whisper her name. 

*** 

They pick me up off the floor and ease me into my chair. The fearful looks on the faces of my daughters and grandchildren causes me to mentally curse myself. Unable to stay, unable to look at the coffin where my wife lay, I wheel myself outside, into the sunlight-the rays intruding on my despair, mocking me. Agents trial behind respectfully and I hear the church music become more and more faint as I distance myself from the harsh reality. 

*** 

She holds my hand while she sleeps. And I watch her. Her chest rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. Her eyelids flutter softly against her cheeks as she dreams. I trace the curve of her nose, her cheek, her chin. Kiss the corner of her lips. Study the lines on her face-the ones I put there, the ones the girls put there. She never stirs. 

THE END 


End file.
